


Hope

by WickedNerdAngel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angelic Grace, Angst, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Humor, Grace Kink, Grace Sex, Grace-Powered Orgasms, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-02-03 09:56:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12746007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WickedNerdAngel/pseuds/WickedNerdAngel
Summary: Dean and Sam emerge from the car in silent unison, save for the slamming of the doors, and Dean stares. As the figure in a familiar trench coat slowly turns, Dean stares. He can't move. He can't speak. But he keeps praying. Once he lays eyes on the face he'd know anywhere on this Earth and beyond, the shape of his cheeks, his nose, mouth, his eyes, swimming in tears, Dean knows. He knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that this...this is his angel.





	Hope

**Author's Note:**

> This only took me a week to write! But I had to, because would Dean and Cas get it on almost immediately after returning to the bunker? Of course they would!  
> This is my first post on this site, though I've written quite a lot. I hope to get more of my crap posted on here soon.  
> Emjoy! Comments and kudos are of course welcome!  
> Also, mucho thanks to my friend, Amy, for the fabulous picture!

 

HOPE

(Episode 13x05 coda)

By WickedNerdAngel

 

Dean's never driven baby so fast or so hard in his entire existence. The only thing he could get out of his mouth after Sam saw the look of shock coloring his features and asked who’d called, was a breathy - all but whispered - “Cas.” There were no words after that. No questions. Sam knew better. He's seen that look before, and he sees it now.

Hope.

Unimaginable hope and determination.

And as Dean drives baby's tires through the puddles and potholes of the dark alley, he can do nothing but stare at the figure he sees at the phone booth. His chest tightens. His breaths punch out of his lungs like a backfiring engine. _Is it him?_ For the first time since he cursed God, he prays. _Please. Let it be him. Just...let it be him._

Dean and Sam emerge from the car in silent unison, save for the slamming of the doors, and Dean stares. As the figure in a familiar trench coat slowly turns, Dean stares. He can't move. He can't speak. But he keeps praying. Once he lays eyes on the face he'd know anywhere on this earth and beyond, the shape of his cheeks, his nose, mouth, his eyes, swimming in tears, Dean knows. He _knows_ beyond a shadow of a doubt that this...this is his angel.

He's remiss as to what to do, but there's only one thing he _can_ do. Once the feeling comes back to his legs, and he no longer feels like he could collapse at any moment, the desperate hunter wastes no more time. He marches determinedly toward Cas, the angel's eyes widening a little as he approaches, and wraps his arms so tightly around him that, if the angel needed to breathe, he'd be shit outta luck.

“Cas,” he whispers. Dean's left hand moves from being splayed across Cas’ back to his head. Fingers tangle in the dark brown tendrils, but the angel doesn't seem to care. “Cas,” he says it again, this time a little louder, disbelief clear in his tone.

“Hello Dean.”

Dean can't help but smile. The angel's arms tighten around Dean's waist and Dean presses his nose against Cas’ neck. “It's really you?” He sounds like a child, uncertain, scared, but hopeful. His right hand fists the trench coat.

“It's me, Dean. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

“You left me.” Dean inches closer, arms gripping tighter, nose pressing further into Cas’ neck.

“I didn't want to. I'm sorry,” the angel whispers.

Dean chuckles but there's no humor in it. “I dunno whether I wanna hit you or kiss you right now.”

“I would deserve the former,” Cas says quietly, “but I would prefer the latter.” His voice seems more gruff than usual at that, but Dean can hear the smile in it.

“Later,” Dean whispers, pressing his lips into his angel's neck, hidden from view of his stunned younger brother behind him.

When Dean finally let's go of the miracle in his arms, Sam is quick to take his place, though their hug isn't quite as intimate. There's a marked difference in the way his brother holds Cas; a different kind of strain to his voice as he tells the angel how happy he is to see him. But he hears something in the silence of the night, something he knows he isn't meant to hear given the hushed tone in Sammy's words. After the heartfelt, “we're so glad to have you back,” and, “we've missed you, Cas,” Dean hears, “he's just not the same without you.”

Dean knows with every fiber of his being that his brother means those words; and he knows with every inch of his soul that those words are true.

***

The ride back to the bunker is quiet, save for the soft sounds of the mixtape Dean's no longer saddened to play. That's not quite true, though. It triggers feelings Dean simply can't deny. Some feelings he _wants_ to explore, and some he wants to bury under metric fucktons of dirt, mud, ashes and soot. The pain and despair followed by apathy for life in general he felt when he lost Cas this last time is something he never _ever_ wants to feel again, and plans to do everything in his power not to.

Dean's grateful when his little brother graciously offers to take the back seat, giving Cas shotgun. He tries his best not to stare at the angel while he's driving, but it's mostly futile. And if his hand, lying listlessly on the seat next to him, comes alive occasionally, and if his knuckles brush Cas’ just to make sure he's still there, still solid, well he has nothing to say about that. If his fingers, of their own volition, happen to curl into Cas’ once, just to feel the warmth of life rather than the coldness of death, then he has nothing to say about that either. The angel doesn't say anything, but Dean feels his fingers twitch and squeeze back, and that's all he needs in this moment.

_The coldness of death. The body he burned._ He let's himself dwell, but only for a second because he's not thinking about that. _He's not thinking about that right now._ He wants to know how Cas has come back to him, and he will find out, but right now...he's just…

Back.

And that's all Dean cares about.

The cautiously elated hunter can't help but touch Cas every chance he gets as they make their way into the bunker: holding his arm steadily as he needlessly helps him out of the car, his hand placed loosely in the small of Cas’ back as they walk to the door. It doesn't go unnoticed by his perceptive brother, but Dean can't find it within him to care.

Once inside, Dean lets his hand drop to his side and falls in behind Cas at the top of the stairs. Awaiting at the bottom is an emotional-looking Jack, watching raptly as Cas descends. They're face to face, finally and Dean and Sam can only watch as a silent exchange takes place between the two human-but-not-humans.

“Fa--” Jack breaks the silence first, seemingly unable to help himself but call the angel the first thing that comes to his young mind, but he quickly corrects himself. “C-Castiel.”

The boys watch in amazement as Cas’ stoic face changes to a warm, inviting smile. “Yes. Hello, Jack.”

“I-I’m not sure…” Jack shakes his head, his brow furrowed and a look of frustrated confusion riddling him. “...what to do.”

Cas answers him silently by stepping forward and wrapping his arms around the boy, who immediately reciprocates. They're quietly embracing for what seems like a long while before Cas speaks. Dean's unsure if he and Sam are meant to hear the words Cas speaks, but it doesn't seem that the angel wants any secrets.

“Thank you, Jack. For waking me up.”

Jack pulls back, stunned. “You heard me?”

_Well there's your answer, Winchester,_ Dean tells himself.

Cas nods in response, still smiling and Dean thinks that that, in and of itself, is a miracle to behold. “I did. I...was in a place of darkness, nothingness. The Empty, as it's formally called, and because you woke me, something else awoke as well.” He glances around the room warily before returning his attention to the nephilim, and Dean doesn't like it one bit. He exchanges a knowing look with his his brother because he _knew, goddamn it,_ that nothing is that easy. “But...it didn't want to let me go. It tried to keep me there by showing me all my failings, all the misery I caused here.” Dean's heart clenches and rage boils in his blood at this thing he doesn't even know as he listens to his angel's tone turn wistful and fucking melancholy.

“I'm sorry, Father,” Jack says, his face suddenly turning to shocked horror at how easily he slipped.

Cas’ face, in turn, reflects utter shock, but he looks over at Dean with tears in his eyes. Dean's unsure why he's looking at _him_ in that way, but he shrugs and gives Cas the god's honest truth. “He chose you, man. He doesn't want anything to do with that ass clown, Lucifer.” The angel's wide, ocean blue eyes turn again to Jack, who is now no longer shocked at himself, but smiling instead.

“That's right,” he says proudly and matter of factly. “I don't want anything to do with that ass clown.” Dean and Sam neither one can feign their chuckles at that. But Jack's expression turns to one of concern once again as Cas continues to stare blankly. “Is it...is it okay if I call you that? My mom said you would protect me. I...want you to be my father if that's okay.”

Dean's keen eye catches the tear that barely escapes Cas’ eye before he wipes it away, and _fuck_ , he wants to hold him.

“That is,” the angel hesitates and takes a breath, “I would be honored, Jack,” he finally says, his mouth spreading into a smile that splits his face.

***

Dean lets the two of them get to know each other for a while. He brings Cas, and even Jack - much to the discontent of the angel, who can't hide his fatherly disapproval - a beer and he and Sam listen as Jack recounts the misadventures of the three of them. They laugh, they cringe, and Dean points at Sam on more than one occasion when once again he's under scrutiny of Cas’ disgruntled glare. Not to mention a shrug and a, “he's stronger than all of us combined, Cas, come on!” Which doesn't seem to earn him any Brownie points.

When Cas finally stands to take his beer to the kitchen, Dean stands as well. _Storytime is over_ , he decides to himself, and he needs...some time.  He follows Cas, feeling the burning stare of Sam, at least, but ignores it. Two steps over the threshold of the kitchen door, and Dean is grabbing the angel's beer bottle, placing both of them in the sink, turning slowly and leaning against the counter. Cas is facing him, head cocked to the side, and Dean's almost certain his brow is furrowed in that way that is endearingly Cas, but he can't seem to meet his eyes.

“What is it, Dean?” The angel asks, per usual, concern flooding every word.

Finally Dean looks up at him, his body hunched against the counter, his eyes bloodshot with fatigue and emotion, and Cas takes an immediate step forward.

“Dean?”

“Cas,” he replies, his voice gravelly and foreign. “I'm glad you're back, man, so damn glad. You have no idea how glad.” The angel listens silently and, now that Dean's looking at him, he realizes he was right. Brows are definitely furrowed. “But what are we up against, now?”

Cas shakes his head, the look on his face is one giant goddamn apology and Dean hates it. “Dean. I...I can't be completely certain, but I'm as certain as I can possibly be that the entity just wanted to sleep. I threatened that sleep. I even fought him, Dean, when he tried to make me sleep again. I told him I'd never let him rest if he didn't send me back to you...and Sam, and the next thing I knew, I was waking up in a field in the middle of nowhere.”

Dean stares in stunned silence. Cas’ eyes, bluer than normal without grace powering them, are now as bloodshot as Dean's, and he's done. He can't stand here any longer.

“I'm… fuck, man, I dunno what to say.”

“You already said it, Dean,” Cas quips. “You're happy I'm back and that's all I need.”

_Well that's not all I need,_ Dean replies without words.

“Hey, uh, can we-- can we talk? Privately?”

Cas tilts his head in confusion again. “But Dean, aren't we currently speaking privately?”

Dean fights the eye roll that comes naturally to him, but he loses that battle. “More privately, man, come on, don't make me say it,” he pleads.

A small smile ghosts across Cas’ lips as he nods once. “Of course, Dean. Anything you wish.”

Dean barely glances at his brother and Jack as he silently leads Cas to the hallway. Jack is enthralled in a random Tom & Jerry episode, which Dean mentally high fives himself for, since he was the one who broadened the boys horizons on good cartoons, and Sam is looking one hundred percent bored as hell. The younger hunter narrows his eyes as the two of them pass, but seems to quickly get a clue, widen those hazels, and turn away in a flash. It's unfortunate, really, since he misses the bird Dean flashes him.

Dean passes his own room and continues walking. Behind him, Cas pauses minutely, and then, “Dean? Where are we going?”

Without missing a beat, or stopping, Dean replies. “To your room, genius.” He passes another door and waves toward it without looking. “That's Jack's,” he says, as if he's saying the sky is blue, and this time, Cas stops.

“You gave Jack a room.” It's not a question. It's said in wonderment as the angel peers around the room. It's plain, not much personalized about it yet, but it's Jack's.

“Well it was Sam, not me,” Dean's voice sounds a little further than it did a moment before. “I just barely started trusting the kid. He saved Sammy, so I'm good with him. Cas?” Dean sighs. “Castiel, angel of the goddamn lord, come on!”

Cas startles at Dean's harsh tone, but looks down the hall only to see Dean is now two doors down, looking aggravated, with his hands thrown in the air. He hides his grin as he stalks toward his old room and grumbles, “Well that wasn't at all necessary.”

Dean watches the angel carefully as he enters the room before him and looks around. His expression is unreadable, but when his eyes meet Dean's, the emotion is undeniable. “You kept it. You kept it the same?”

“Why the fuck wouldn't I?” Dean replies, shutting and locking the door behind him.

“Are you angry with me?” Cas turns to face him. He looks sad, beaten, his eyes like that of a puppy who'd just gotten scolded, and Dean's irrational aggression lifts immediately.

“No, Cas, I'm not angry.” The hunter presses his fingers into the corners of his eyes, his legs carrying him forward a couple steps. “I'm just…overwhelmed, man. I...all the things I felt when I lost you, and now you're here and I just wanna…” Dean trails off, unable to finish.

“You want to what, Dean?” Cas’ voice is soft, pleading.

“I don't know,” Dean whispers. His eyes, having been staring at the floor, shift to his angel's, swimming in tears. “I don't. I-I can't,” his voice quivers and it's all Castiel needs to close the distance between them. He wraps his arms around the most amazing man he's ever known standing before him for the second time tonight, and that man all but collapses into him. Dean clings to him as if he's going to disappear, burying his face in the crook of Cas’ neck. “I can't do this without you, Cas,” his voice is muffled, but the angel can feel the wetness of Dean's tears and it only makes him hold the hunter tighter. “I told you that when you were d-dead. I know you couldn't hear me, but I can't do any of this without you, I can't.”

“Shhhh, Dean, I'm here. I'm here,” Cas is speaking in hushed tones, petting the back of Dean's head now, his other arm locked around Dean's shoulders. “I'm not going anywhere.”

Dean pulls back. The look on his face enough to destroy Castiel all over again. “You've said that before, Cas.” Although he feels like a stronger angel now that he's been resurrected, Castiel’s knees go weak. If only Dean Winchester knew the power he held over him. Never before has any human ever had the power to destroy him with a look, or lift him to heaven with a simple grin. “You were _dead_ , man. More dead than I've ever seen you, dead. I _burned_ your body, Cas. _How_ the _hell_ are you _here?”_

Dean can see that Cas doesn't quite know, doesn't understand it himself, so it's no surprise when Cas says as much. “I only remember what I told you. The Empty must have just restored me the best he knew, which would explain the old tie and coat. I...seem the same, but I am at full power. That much I can tell you.”

If Dean's being completely honest, he hadn't even noticed the change in duds. When he first saw Cas at that phone booth, all he saw was _Cas._ All he still sees is _Cas._ That's all he cares about. But one thing does catch his attention. “You're at full power?” He bites the inside of his lip. Cas nods. “So, say, I wanted you to teleport us to a deserted island right now, could you do it?”

“I could, yes.” Cas grins. He begins to lift his hand.

“Whoa! Hey!” Dean jumps back. “I don't need that, Cas.” He chuckles lightly. If he had any question about the real Cas actually being here, it's completely gone. “It was a hypothetical, man. I'm good... right here...in this room with you.”

“Oh,” Cas says, chagrined. “I'm sorry, Dean.”

“No,” Dean shakes his head, walking toward the angel again. He puts his calloused hands on each of Cas’ arms and squeezes. “This is good, Cas. This is good.” One hand boldly slides up to cradle the angel's cheek, the other slides down, feeling the hard plains and valleys of muscle as it descends, to intertwine their fingers together. 

Cas leans into the hand on his cheek, his eyelids fluttering closed. Dean licks his lips, his green eyes taking inventory of every eyelash, every slight wrinkle - put in place by worry, no doubt - every inch of five o'clock shadow; the way his cheekbones round out his face perfectly; the way his nose is angled in just the right way, and his lips, slightly open and inviting. He let's go of Cas’ hand and places his own on the angel's chest, right over his heart. His own eyes flutter closed as he feels the steady strum of heart beats, feels his chest rising and falling with each calm, soothing breath.

_Life._

Dean's own breath begins to punch out of him again, his human lungs betraying him. Cas opens his eyes when Dean moves the hand from his cheek. Dean can feel blue eyes watching him as, shakily, he slides the trench coat off of Cas’ shoulders. Cas moves his own hands behind his back to pull the coat the rest of the way off, tossing it to the corner of the room, and Dean's are on the angel's chest again; moving underneath the suit jacket, pressing against the white button up, needing as little layers as possible.

“I'm sorry,” Dean whispers, “I just...I just need to touch you.” he clears his raw throat. “I just need to make sure you're real.”

“It's okay, Dean.” Cas reached up with both hands to cradle Dean's face, his fingers kneading into the back of Dean's head. The hunter sighs, deep, cleansing, as if he's been holding his breath for weeks. He's not looking at Cas. His eyes are focused on the chest before him, revelling in the feel of Cas’ fingers in his hair, but with a small twist of the angel's wrists, Dean's forced to. He stares into the deepest blues of Cas's eyes and he's lost. “I assure you, I'm real.” 

Dean finds himself being pulled forward, until the angel's soft lips meet his forehead, lingering for a moment. Cas’ lips drag down the bridge of Dean's nose and he shudders out an unsteady breath. Their foreheads are pressed together now, noses touching, mouths so close it's as if they're breathing _for_ each other. As if there's no other air in the room _to_ breathe. Dean mimics Cas, cradling his face, eyes screwed shut, just feeling.

“I love you, Dean,” the angel whispers. Dean squeezes his eyes shut even tighter, presses his nose into Cas’ harder. “I couldn't sleep for eternity while you were still here, still alive, still fighting. Even...even if Jack hadn't awaken me, I would've found my way back to you somehow.”

“Why, Cas?” Dean feels the slightest brush of Cas’ scruffy chin against his as he speaks, and it sends a jolt of heat through him. “I don't des--”

“Dean, if you say you don't deserve this, or me being here, I will zap you to that deserted island by yourself.”

Dean laughs at the angel's candor and opens his eyes to see bright blue staring back at him. He licks his lips again and leans in. He presses his lips against Cas’, but stops. Still slightly open, still breathing, but not moving, just touching. Cas moves first, tilting up slightly to capture Dean's top lip between his own. The angel sucks lightly and Dean clenches his jaw, keeping himself in check. But when he feels Cas’ tongue trace the underside of his lip, he's gone.

He snakes his arms around the angel's waist and pulls their bodies flush together , angling his head, and diving into Cas’ mouth. The moan that escapes him when their tongues connect turns a burning ember into a full fledged fire, and his hands are moving before he can stop them. He's pushing the suit jacket off Cas’ shoulders, it drops in a heap on the floor. His fingers are shaking as he works the buttons of the shirt in front of him, Cas’ hands slipping nimbly under Dean's flannel and t-shirt. Dean breaks the kiss, takes a quick breath and mutters a quiet, “fuck”, flicking his tongue on Cas’ bottom lip when the angel's blunt nails scrape from his chest to the button of his jeans. Long, nimble fingers dip between denim fabric and skin, and Dean can barely stand now. Knees buckle, his hips buck forward, earning him a soft gasp from the angel, and Dean's already wrecked.

“Cas,” he groans.

“Mmmm,” is the only response he gets as lips glide along his stubbled jaw, wrap around his ear lobe, and teeth sink into flesh. Dean's so hard now, it's painful, but he needs more.  

“Shit, Cas.” Dean's hands slide around Cas’ waist, taking purchase on the swell of his ass. He pulls the angel tighter against him, feeling every inch of his erection. He's never wanted anything more than that cock.

“Dean,” Cas’ voice is desperate, wanton, and Dean understands this on a molecular fucking level.

“Too many clothes,” he whispers in the angel's ear, licking into it right after. Cas’ hips jolt forward. “Too. Many. Fucking. Clothes.”

“Yes,” Cas agrees, flicking open the button on Dean's fly with one hand, the other gripping Dean's head and pulling him in for a blistering kiss.

Dean pulls his flannel off, throwing it blindly as his tongue licks along Cas’ teeth, swirling with the angel's. Cas’ hands frantically tug Dean's t-shirt upward. Dean lifts his arms, because he's nice like that, and only pulls his lips away from his angel's long enough to allow the godforsaken material over his head. His hands quickly pull the white shirt off of Cas, and it's discarded along with Dean's flannel somewhere in the room where unwanted shirts go during sex. His fingers slide along Cas’ toned chest, thumbs circling his nipples until their taut and pebbled, teeth scraping along a razor sharp jaw, and the angel's fingers are digging into his still denim-clad ass cheeks.

Dean no longer has control of himself, his hands gliding down over quivering abs to work on his belt buckle as Cas’ breath comes faster, labored, and it's taking too fucking long.

“Goddamn...belts,” he complains, kissing along Cas’ neck as he struggles, “I...hate...belt... buckles.”

“Me too,” Cas replies, his tongue licking along the shell of Dean's ear. Dean shudders. Cas slaps Dean's hands away, much to the hunter's vexation, ripping the zipper of his jeans down, pushing denim and cotton until both are around Dean's ankles. The angel takes an excruciatingly long time unlacing Dean's boots; he taps at each leg, carefully pulling each one off along with Dean's socks. He moves on to freeing Dean of his makeshift shackles, kissing up one leg, lingering at his groin. Dean, kneading at Cas’ crown, tries to urge him over just a little, but Cas isn't having it. The angel smiles against Dean's skin and stands; the man's poor, neglected dick hardening in response.

“C’mon, Cas,” Dean begs, but he’s met with a defiant stare, swollen lips and wrecked hair, all of which are too fucking sexy for words. He leans in for a kiss, but Cas has other ideas. The angel dips down suddenly, flattening his tongue over Dean's nipple, and the moan that escapes him is almost inhuman. The angel drags his lips across Dean's chest, paying equal attention to the opposite nipple, and Dean can't fucking take it anymore. He pulls on the Cas’ arms until he finally acquiesces and stands. Dean can't crash their mouths together fast enough. Teeth tug on lips, tongues twist around one another, hands roam along shoulders, necks, the backs of heads. The only sounds are that of heavy breaths punched out of each one's lungs.  

Dean, who's prided himself on being the master of clothing removal, has decided that Cas’ belt is the bane of his existence, and tugs at it again in frustration. Cas chuckles and pulled back a bit. He waves his hand in front of his own crotch, and the belt comes unbuckled... untouched.

Dean stares in shocked amazement. If he's being honest, he doesn't know whether he wants to be pissed about his measly human hands or impressed by his angel's power. He goes with option C. “Fuck, that's sexy. Get over here.” He pulls Cas over by his now, buckle-free pants and kisses him again before finishing the job, pushing the pants and boxers down to Cas’ ankles.

Cas frees himself from the remainder of his clothes and shoes, and stares at Dean with a devilish glint in his blue eyes that makes the hunter hungry as absolute hell...for something _other_ than cheeseburgers. He pulls Dean in, licking into his mouth and _yeah_ , Dean's on fucking fire. Cas reaches between them, wraps long fingers around both erections and pumps once, then twice.

“Jesus... fucking... Christ... Cas,” Dean breathes, breaking the kiss and biting his own lip to the point of pain. “Bed... _now.”_

“Not yet,” the angel answers on heavy breath, pressing their foreheads together. “I know I probably don't deserve it, but can you trust me? Just for a few more moments?”

Dean grinds his teeth together, and bucks into Cas’ hand once, earning him a very pleasant whimper from the tyrant in front of him. “You're fucking killing me, angel.”

“Just answer the question, _hunter.”_

Well, that went straight to Dean's dick.

“Yes, Cas. Of course I trust you, ya moron. Now you gonna stop with that self loathing shit?” Dean kisses his forehead for good measure, and when Cas looks back up at him, his eyes are red rimmed. Dean's brow furrows. “None of that, angel. No more tears.”

Cas nods. He takes a deep breath and licks his lips...which does things to Dean that should be illegal in forty eight states. He takes one small step back from Dean and drops his arms to his sides. Dean gives a disapproving grunt and frowns, but doesn't question it because trust and all that shit.

“Close your eyes, Dean.”

“What are you--”

“Don't ask stupid questions,” the angel retorts with a sly grin. “Just close them.”

“Fine. Jesus.” Dean does as he's told, albeit petulantly.

He closes his eyes, and waits. It's a few seconds before Dean notices anything, and then he feels it. It starts as a low hum that begins in his head and moves slowly down his body. When the feeling reaches his chest, his heart begins to beat a little faster, but not enough to alarm him. He's about to ask this crazy angel what the hell is happening when he feels a warmth start to spread from what feels like his beating heart. It reaches his shoulders, biceps and arms first, leaving his fingers tingling, then begins to spread down through his torso, legs and feet. Everywhere the warmth touches leaves the same tingling sensation and Dean is perplexed. He's left buzzing for a moment, still wondering what the fuck is going on, and then the heat reaches his ass. He jumps a little when he feels it because it's warmer, like the core of the sun, just beginning to spin, the heat becoming more intense.

Suddenly this coiling, spinning heat glides around his hips, centering in one very specific area, and his cock jumps in response.

“Cas, what the fuck?” he asks, unable to contain himself.

“Shhh, Dean, don't talk,” the angel whispers, “or I'll make it too intense too fast.”

“What are you--”

“What did I say, Dean?” Cas chides. Dean's not sure he wants to know what he meant by 'too intense too fast,’ so he shuts up.

The center of the sun is expanding now, out from his groin and back up his belly. It's the strangest fucking feeling Dean's ever felt, and his breaths start to pick up. As abruptly as it came, the heat is gone and, once again, Dean is perplexed. He's tingling all over now, as if he bathed in peppermint and walked into a snowstorm, but it's not unpleasant. His brows furrow, but he keeps his eyes closed as instructed. Still, he can't help himself.

“Cas?”

“Shhh,” is the only response.

Fingers. Dean feels fingers. Hundreds of them everywhere, all over his body. Kneading, massaging, feeling every inch of him. He feels unsteady on his feet; he wavers, but he's held up by a force he can't explain. His nipples harden by phantom thumbs; nails that aren't there scrape down his back; his lips swell from kisses that haven't happened since he closed his eyes, and ethereal hands grip onto his ass.

“ _Fuck!_ Cas, what are you…”

He has to make sure, though. He knows he promised to keep his eyes shut, but this is an extenuating circumstance he was _not expecting_ , so he opens his eyes. Just for a second, and…

Cas isn't touching him. _How the fuck?_ The angel is standing there, arms at his side, his own eyes closed, and he's glowing. _He's fucking glowing_ from head to toe. Dean's eyes are saucers. His jaw goes slack, both in awe and from the immense pleasure he's feeling, and he couldn't even collapse if he wanted to... _because he's being held in place._

“H-Holy fuck,” he breathes.

“Close your eyes, Dean!”

Dean immediately obeys. He feels the heat again, centered in his belly, spiralling out of control now as the phantom fingers  continue to work him into a frenzy. His cock is so hard, it's weeping. He tries to move, to piston his hips for more friction, but it's futile. It's too much and not enough all at once. He feels them working him over, he feels his ass being penetrated and _fuck_ , it's so good, so fucking good.

“Cas, fuck, Cas, I'm gonna--”

And then Dean's coming, harder than he ever has before. He cries out as his body seizes and shudders. When the feeling suddenly ends, he's still reeling. His knees can't hold him and he starts to collapse, but his angel catches him and holds him steady. His chest is heaving. He has to open his eyes to make sure he's actually being held, and he is. Cas’ arms are wrapped around him tightly, his actual hands stroking up and down his back.

“Are you okay?” the angel asks.

“Fuck you, dude,” Dean replies, but his tone is light, breathy. “That was...holy shit.”

“Well it was definitely divine,” Cas leans back and grins at his ridiculous joke. He kisses Dean, and suddenly, the hunter feels fucking refreshed, like he's had a full night's sleep and is ready for several more rounds - which he is. He pushes the angel back to eye him dubiously.

“The hell was that, Cas? Did you...was that your _grace?”_ Cas only nods in response, his expression uncertain. “You used your grace to get me off.” It isn't a question, more of a superfluous statement, but Cas nods again. Dean's only response is to grab Cas by the back of his head and pull him in, kissing him hard. He reaches down to feel Cas’ still prominent erection, revels in the angel's soft whimper, and grins against his mouth. “Well hello there.”

“Hello Dean.”

Dean throws his head back and laughs. “I meant... nevermind.” He pulls the angel flush against him, feeling himself start to harden again in response, and says, “since you ruined my afterglow by using your cosmic rejuvenation, you ready for round two?”

“You're not upset with me?”

“Do I look upset with you?” Dean raises his eyebrows, waiting for a reply.

“No, but--”

“No buts!” Dean exclaims, spinning them and pushing Cas toward the bed. “Well not _those_ kinda buts anyway,” he grins, wiggling his eyebrows. He pushes the angel to sit on the bed, knowing full well that Cas is _allowing_ it - which makes him even harder - and kneels down in front of him. Without a word, he licks the angel's cock from base to tip and flicks his tongue.

“Dean,” Cas groans, his head falling back. Dean hums in response, swallowing Cas into his throat, and the angel jumps. “Holy sh--...Dean!”

Dean pops his mouth off Cas’ cock, earning a disgruntled glare as he looks up at him. “You can say 'shit,’ Cas. I'm sucking your dick, it's okay.” Cas mutters something in enochian that Dean can only determine is cursing, and decides he _really_ needs to find an enochian dictionary somewhere in this bunker. Cas raises his hand. Dean thinks it's to push his head back where the angel wants him, but he snaps his fingers, and the next thing Dean knows, he's on his back...in the middle of the fucking bed.

“Holy fuck! Shit!”

“You were saying?” Cas is crawling toward him menacingly, and Dean's mouth goes dry. The angel straddles him, settling down on top of him, grinding their cocks together, and Dean's hands fist into the comforter he's lying on.

“Cas,” he croaks, grappling at him until their mouths are touching again, “I need you inside me. Now.” Cas kisses him hard. Dean bucks into him both moaning in unison.

_This is a good song,_ Dean thinks.

“What if…” Cas says against his mouth, “I want you inside of me first?”

Dean pulls back and stares at him. His eyes go wide...again. “Oh. Oh?” Cas nods.

“I know we've never…” Cas trails off for a minute, “but can we try it?”

“Oh-o-okay,” Dean licks his lips and nods like an idiot because he can't form coherent words at the moment. “L-lube’s in the drawer, I never moved it,” he says gruffly.

“I don't need that, Dean.” Cas closes his eyes, and when he opens them, they're electric blue, angel grace blue.

“Oh no...not again,” Dean says on his breath. “Cas,” he croaks, “no grace.”

Cas blinks. His eyes go back to their normal cobalt, and he slides effortlessly onto Dean's cock.

“Jesus fuck!” Dean screws his eyes shut and digs his head into the pillow. The sensation is too much.

“I'm just using it for this, Dean,” Cas replies, leaning over to capture Dean's lips with his own. “You didn't like my grace?” He asks against his mouth.

“I did-- fuck,” he grunts as Cas undulates his hips once. “I... loved your grace... _shit,”_ Cas moves again. Dean licks along the angel's jaw to his ear, breathing into it, feeling Cas shudder. “I just wanna feel you. The real you.”

“Touch me, Dean,” Cas begs. Dean releases the comforter and palms Cas’ ass, spreading his cheeks wide. He bends his knees and bucks into him, forcing Cas forehead against his own. The angel's breaths are punching out of him now and Dean can't get enough. He thrusts harder and faster until Cas is a whimpering heap above him. “Dean... Dean…” he chants between open-mouth kisses on the hunter's neck.

Dean let's go of Cas’ ass and uses his arms to push himself up to a sitting position, Cas still straddling him. The position pushes him deeper into Cas, and the angel cries out. “Kiss me, Cas.” The angel crashes his lips to Dean's. It's all tongues and teeth and sliding flesh against flesh until Dean's about to explode. “Cas,” he mewls, “Cas...if we don't stop, I'm gonna come.” He reached between them and fists Cas’ cock, giving it a good couple pumps. The angel moans.”

“Mmmmmm, isn't that the idea?” Cas replies.

“Yes, but…” he takes a breath, “I don't wanna come in you. I want _you_ to come in _me.”_

Cas stares at him, then smiles. “Anything you wish, Dean.” He pushes Dean to lie down again, lifts off of him, and moves his legs inside the hunter's, settling between them. Hovering over Dean, he leans down and kisses him. When he pulls back, his eyes are electric blue again.

_“Shit,”_ Dean swallows hard.

Cas blinks to reveal, once again, cobalt blues. “Trust me?” he asks. Dean simply nods, because he can't seem to speak, and the idea of him not trusting this angel is beyond comprehension at this point.

Cas pushes Dean's legs apart and lines himself up. He inches into Dean slowly. Dean arches off the bed because it's so... fucking...good. It feels like he's been lubed and opened up for a good fifteen minutes. It's incredible. “This angel grace thing comes in handy, yeah? _Fuck...fuck,”_ he curses when Cas braces his arms under Dean's knees and thrusts. _“Cas... Cas…_ c'mere, I need you,” Dean begs.

The angel immediately obeys. He let's go of Dean's legs and readjusts, flattening himself against the hunter and continues to thrust. Dean wraps his legs around Cas’ waist, pushing him in further. Cas is cursing again in enochian, between kisses and nips along Dean's neck and jaw. He makes his way up to Dean's lips and stops, breathing into him as he pistons his hips harder, faster. The friction on Dean's dick from their torsos sliding together is about to be his undoing, not to mention the angel knows _exactly_ where his prostate is...and hits it every time.

“Cas, I'm gonna come,” Dean whines, “I need you to, _I need you to.”_ The angel tugs on Dean's bottom lip with his teeth, thrusts once more, and it's all over for him. With his head thrown back into the pillow, a groan, muffled from biting his own fucking lip, Dean comes. Wetness seeps between them. Cas slows down a little, but Dean grabs his face and stares at him. “No, Cas. Come,” he orders. His legs fall apart, and he reaches one hand around to palm Cas’ ass. He dips his fingers between mounds of toned flesh, massages puckered skin, before dipping a finger inside.

_“Dean!”_ Cas cries. His thrusts become erratic. Dean's tongue licks at Cas’ mouth, his free hand tangles fingers in the back of Cas’ hair, and he pulls back slightly, their foreheads still touching.

“Come, angel. Come for me.”

Cas thrusts a couple more times, his mouth dragging across Dean's jaw. He drops his head to Dean's shoulder, his undulations stuttering, then stopping suddenly. He bites into Dean's flesh to muffle his own cries as he comes, emptying himself into Dean. Dean holds him tight, keeping them connected as long as he can.

Cas turns his head, his breaths heavy, his lips graze the shell of Dean's ear as he says, “I love you, Dean.”

Dean turns his own head, capturing Cas’ lips in a soft, tender kiss. “I love you too, angel.” Cas eyes fly open, widen in shock and Dean grins. “What? I think it's time for me to stop being an emotionally stunted asshole, don't you?” He shrugs.

Cas is kissing him again.

“Now are you gonna clean this shit up?” Dean asks with a Cheshire cat grin.

“I thought you wanted it old fashioned?” Cas grins back.

“Nah, I'm good with the all-purpose angel grace, man.”

Cas pulls out of Dean and snaps his fingers. At once, they're completely dry, but still wrapped around each other. Dean chuckles.

“What?” Cas asks, eyeing Dean with one raised eyebrow.

“My boyfriend's magic,” Dean replies smiling proudly. “And I win.”

"What do you mean, 'you win’?” Cas is bemused again.

Dean just stares at him. His expression sobering, he clears his throat. “Nevermind, angel. Let's just say we both won. And let's sleep.”

“Of course, Dean,” the angel replies. Little does he know this will be the first time the hunter's slept a full night since he lost his angel.

***

The End.


End file.
